Broken Dragon (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 3)

by D. W. Moneypenny

  Ping added, “It explains the danger and jealousy I sensed from the dragon as well. It saw Hannah’s presence as a real threat. It’s also the reason you felt you had to send Hannah back in time—she was the only person who could send the dragon back to its own realm. That’s why the Chronicle of Continuity told you to ignore the dragon’s folly—a solution was already in place.”

  A fire engine swung up to the curb in front of the house just a few feet away. Firemen sprang from every side of the vehicle and unloaded hoses and equipment. Within seconds, they were running across the front lawn attacking the fire. An older fireman approached and asked Diana if everyone had gotten out of the house. When she answered in the affirmative, he said a second engine was a minute or two away and asked them to stand across the road out of the way.

  CHAPTER 59

  Late the next morning, Mara’s Outback pulled up to the curb in front of the house, or rather, in front of the lot where it used to be. Now there was just a pile of wet blackened debris standing on top of a concrete foundation. All that remained were the front steps leading up to a platform that used to be the front porch and, oddly, the frame of the front door, though the door itself and the front wall of the house were gone. It stood like a portal, mocking them to enter the devastation that used to be the only home Mara ever knew.

  Shifting the car into Park, Mara glanced over to the passenger seat at her mother and asked, “Are you sure you’re up to doing this?”

  Diana nodded and smiled. “It’s just a house, Mara. Once we get the insurance squared away, we’ll build another one just like it. To be honest, you look like you’re dreading this more than I am.”

  “Not really dreading, just mourning, I guess,” she said. “All the memories we have of this house, it’s almost like we’ve lost our entire past.”

  Diana opened the car door, turned back to her daughter and nodded toward the backseat where Sam and Hannah sat. “The memories weren’t lost in the fire, sweetie. Besides, you’ve got a lot more memories ahead of you than behind.”

  “Even so, I still wanted to look around and see if anything was salvageable,” Mara said.

  Sam exited the backseat on the driver’s side, as Mara did too, and said, “You think the book survived the fire? The Chronicle of Continuity? That’s what you’re looking for, isn’t it?”

  She looked doubtful. “I don’t know, but there were still a lot of blank pages in it, a lot of haikus that hadn’t been revealed yet. Maybe with a little practice, I could actually get some guidance from them.”

  They all got out of the car and stood at the curb, staring at twenty-foot-wide crater in the front yard and the lonely door frame. Without saying anything, they walked up the driveway and took the path to the front steps. Mara stomped her boot on the first step, and it sounded solid, so she took the rest of the steps in rapid succession and walked onto the remains of the porch, kicking some charred wood and shingles out of the way.

  “Feels stable enough to stand up here,” she said.

  Sam crouched down next to Hannah and said, “Why don’t I give you a piggyback ride, so you don’t step on anything sharp?”

  Diana smiled at him.

  While Hannah crawled onto his back, he caught his mother’s expression and said, “What?”

  “Just a couple weeks ago I met her running through a shop full of broken glass, and you didn’t have a clue about taking care of a daughter. You’ve learned a lot in a short time,” she said.

  He reddened and cocked his head toward Hannah, whose chin now rested on his shoulder from her perch on his back. “I’ve had a good teacher.”

  After walking under the charred door frame, just beyond it, Mara found a small piece of floor space that was not buried in a tangle of burned furniture, collapsed walls or fallen fixtures. Turning to the right toward the fireplace in the living room, her footsteps sounded oddly muffled. As the burned flooring compressed under her heels, the soft crunch of ash accentuated each step. After six steps her way was blocked by debris piled about a foot taller than she was.

  “Where did all this come from?” Mara asked.

  Diana walked up to stand beside her and said, “Most of this looks like it came from your bedroom.” She pointed to a large burned plank, wedged into a pile to their left. “That’s the headboard from your bed. I think that might be your dresser under it. When the ceiling gave way, your stuff ended up down here on top of the living room.”

  Sam, still carrying Hannah, walked up behind them and asked, “Did you leave the book in your room?”

  Mara nodded. “I think I put it in the top side drawer of my desk.”

  “Come to think of it, that might be your desk, on its side,” Diana said, turning her head sideways. She walked up to it and pushed a mass of wet drywall out of the way. She rubbed a couple fingers over a brass fixture, turned back to Mara and said, “That’s definitely the knob on your desk drawers.”

  “Let me get in there,” Mara said. When her mother stepped back, Mara shoved more debris from the front of the desk and crouched down. Tilting her head, she grasped the knob on front of the top side drawer and pulled. The drawer wouldn’t budge, so she planted her foot on what would have been the left corner of the desk, now sitting on the floor and yanked. The front panel of the drawer broke loose, leaving what looked like a cubbyhole. She tossed away the charred piece of wood and reached into the opening. When she pulled back her hand, she held a small stone covered in soot, the memory stone she had gotten from Stella Reese.

  “What’s that?” Diana asked.

  Mara rubbed the grit off the stone, stuffed it into her jacket pocket and replied, “The memory stone.”

  Reaching deeper into the opening, she grabbed what she was sure was the cover to the book, but, as she retracted her arm, it felt a little too light and flimsy. Straightening, she held it out in front of her. It was the leather cover of the book, scarred and darkened by fire. When she flipped open the front cover, a plume of ashes fanned into the air.

  Sam’s eyes widened and said, “Is that the Chronicle of Continuity? Is that all that is left of it, the cover?”

  Mara brushed away the ashes and found one burned page sitting against the back cover. It easily slipped loose of its binding, and she held it up in the light. Though crinkled by heat and clouded by smoke, Mara could still make out her own handwriting on the page:

  Continuity

  now travels through other realms.

  Therefore, so must you.

  “Can you make out anything?” Diana asked.

  While trying to look casual, Mara slipped the page between the two leather covers, placed the thin bundle into her pocket with the stone, and said, “No, just a burned piece of paper. That’s all that’s left. I guess that’s the end of the messages from the future.”

  Sam looked like he wasn’t buying it. “Just like that? What about all the blank pages, all the haikus you haven’t read yet?”

  “Obviously there aren’t going to be any more haikus.” Turning to her mother, she asked, “Is there something you would like to look for, while we are here?”

  Diana glanced around the ruins and said, “I don’t think there’s much left. I’ll probably come back, when we begin clearing the lot, and look for some of my crystals, but I’d prefer not to be digging around in all this mess. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  They each turned and walked back through the empty door frame, over the remains of the front porch and down the front steps. When they were about halfway down the driveway, Hannah, who was still riding on Sam’s back, reached over his shoulder and pulled on his chin, turning his head to the left. “Look, Daddy! Look at the doorway!”

  Sam paused and turned back toward the remains of the house. A brilliant white light poured from the vertical rectangle that once held the door. It was so intense that it washed away the planks of the porch and turned the front steps into three shadowy lines. After squinting directly into the light for a moment, Sam leaned to the side to see beyond
the opening, searching for the source of the light. Behind it, there was nothing but the piles of blackened debris. The light did not emanate from within the burned-out house.

  Mara and her mother had continued walking up the driveway.

  “Hey, you guys. What do you make of that?” he said.

  They turned and froze at the end of the driveway. Mara gasped and said, “The grandfather clock.”

  Diana frowned at her. “What?”

  Mara reached out for her mother’s arm and said, “Come on.” She led her back down the driveway to where Sam stood with Hannah on his back.

  “What is that all about?” Sam asked, nodding to the door frame.

  “It’s Mar-ree, my Mar-ree! It’s time for me to go back,” Hannah said, kicking Sam’s sides. “Let me down. I have to go when the light comes back.”

  “Now hold on a second,” Diana said. “You’re not going anywhere, until I know it’s safe.”

  “Mom, how can we know that?” Mara asked, pointing to Hannah. “She came out of a grandfather clock in a flood of light just like that. It seems logical that’s how she would go back.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Now standing next to her father, Hannah said, “It will be all right, Nana. I promise. My Mar-ree told me to go back when I saw the light in the door.”

  Diana’s eyes watered, as she crouched down and held out her arms. “Come give your nana one last hug before you go.”

  Hannah skipped up to her, threw her arms around her neck and, while they hugged, said into her grandmother’s ear, “It’s not really the last hug, you know.”

  “I know, baby. I know.” Diana let her go and wiped a tear from her cheek, as she stood.

  Mara bent down for a hug and said, “You’re my little hero and tell your aunt Mara that her haikus suck.”

  Hannah giggled, stepped back and held out her arms to hug Sam. He shook his head, held out his hand and said, “I’ll walk you over there.”

  She took his hand, and he led her down the path toward the front steps and the light. Halfway there, she turned and waved to Mara and Diana. At the front steps, Sam crouched down in front of her, placing his hands on her waist and said, “You know, bean, before you came, there was nothing in the world I wanted more than having a father. Now I can’t imagine wanting anything more than being yours.” He tried to blink back a tear, but one got away and ran down his cheek. “I can’t wait to be your daddy again.”

  She wiped his cheek and said, “Don’t be sad. You will always be my daddy.”

  Something shifted in the light coming from the door frame, and they looked up. Standing in the distance, seemingly yards away, a silhouette stood, almost lost in the brilliance. Hannah leaned forward, kissed his cheek and said, “I have to go now.”

  “Okay, bean,” he said.

  She playfully bounded up the stairs and jogged across the porch into the door frame. As Sam watched, she disappeared into the light. He waited for a few seconds, expecting the light to dissipate, but it continued to flood the porch and steps without diminishing.

  “Daddy?” Hannah stepped out of the light and walked to the head of the steps where she stood, looking at him.

  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked.

  She extended her hands and said, “Mar-ree says I need to prompt you.”

  “Your aunt Mara told you to come back and prompt me? Prompt me to do what?”

  “It’s a secret.”

  Sam squinted into the light, where he saw a clearly defined shadow, a woman. Her head tilted almost imperceptibly, a nod, maybe. Stepping onto the bottom stair so his head was at the same level as Hannah’s, he said, “Okay, go ahead.”

  Hannah placed her hands on each side of his face. Bending forward she whispered into his ear, “Endure.” A shock ran through him, and everything went black.

  From the driveway, Mara and Diana watched Sam fly ten yards through the air, as if he’d been hit by a truck. He landed on his back in the rim of the crater in the middle of the yard. Looking as if nothing surprising had occurred, Hannah waved one last time in their direction, turned and walked into the illuminated doorway. Before they got to Sam, the light was gone.

  “Sam! Are you okay?” Diana patted him on the face and shook his arm.

  Mara leaned in closer. “Is he breathing?”

  Diana put a hand on his chest and felt his ribs rising and falling. “Yes, but his heart is racing.”

  With a start, Sam snapped awake, grabbing the ground as if he was afraid of sliding deeper into the hole. His head swung back and forth, until he seemed to accept he wasn’t going anywhere. He exhaled and rubbed his hands over his chest. “Ouch, that really hurt.”

  “Are you all right?” Diana asked.

  He sat up. “Yeah, I think so, but I feel like I was just electrocuted. Every pore in my body is tingling.”

  “What did she do to you?” Mara asked.

  “She prompted me,” he said.

  “To fly across the front lawn?” Diana asked.

  Sam shook his head. “She said it was a secret, but, when she prompted me, she said endure.”

  “Endure? What does that mean? Endure what?” Mara asked.

  Sam shrugged. “Beats me. You told her to do it.”

  Mara extended a hand and pulled her brother to his feet. “Take it up with her in about twenty years or so. I’m tired of taking the blame for things I haven’t even thought of yet. Let’s get out of here.”

  CHAPTER 60

  Ping’s bungalow sat on a corner a couple blocks off César E. Chávez Boulevard in a neighborhood near Reed College, less than two miles from the bakery and the shop. While Sam had lived there for a short time after his arrival in this realm, Mara had never visited Ping at his home, which struck her as odd, considering all they had shared in the past few months. She knocked on the front door, intending to wait for him to answer, but Sam reached around her and opened the door.

  “That’s kind of rude, don’t you think? What if he’s in the middle of something?” Mara said.

  From inside, Ping said, “There you are. I hope you don’t mind. I ordered pizza instead of cooking a meal.”

  Sam walked past her, and Mara poked her head through the door to see Ping standing behind a counter that divided the kitchen at the back of the house from the living room at the front, adjacent to the alcove. Mara stepped inside and closed the door.

  “Pizza’s great!” Sam said, swinging his book bag off his shoulder. He took Mara’s from her and pointed to the wall. “You can hang your coat on those hooks.” He disappeared into a hall that opened across from the kitchen.

  “Thanks for putting us up,” Mara said.

  He waved her over to bar stools in front of the counter. “It’s the least I could do, considering my complicity in destroying your home. How is your mother holding up?”

  “She’s being very Zen about the whole thing. If she can get most of her crystals out of the rubble, the rest of the house can be replaced, as far as she’s concerned.”

  “Yes, but there must have been family heirlooms, records, photographs, things of that nature that were lost,” Ping said, while setting plates and napkins on the counter.

  “Nothing she’s too concerned about.”

  “You said she was heading down to Eugene until Monday?”

  Mara nodded. “Mom’s sister lives down there in a huge farmhouse. When she heard about the fire, she insisted we come down. Mom almost dragged us down there, until Sam mentioned he didn’t know who Aunt Jeanne was.”

  “So your mother hasn’t told her about Sam.”

  “Not yet. And with the fire and everything, I think she just didn’t feel up to explaining the whole thing. Jeanne will take some convincing, so springing Sam on her without any preparation wouldn’t be the best approach.”

  Ping nodded as he divvied out pizza slices onto the plates. Lowering his voice, he asked, “How’s Sam taking Hannah’s departure?”

  “I think he’s okay. Emotionally he really
seems able to roll with the punches.”

  “He is quite resilient, isn’t he?” Ping nodded and glanced over Mara’s shoulder.

  Sam sidled up to the bar stool next to her and said, “Did you tell him about the new haiku yet?”

  “So the book survived the fire?” Ping asked.

  “Just one page, but it had a new haiku on it,” she said. She stood, went to the alcove and dug into her jacket pocket. Returning to the counter, she handed the charred page to Ping.

  He read it aloud, without pausing at the line breaks: “Continuity now travels through other realms. Therefore, so must you.” He looked up at Mara. “Unlike the previous haikus from your future self, this one seems rather clear.”

  “I don’t see what’s so clear about it. I thought maintaining Continuity had something to do with future Mara trying not to mess up the past.”

  Ping handed the sheet back to Mara. “She obviously was attempting to alter the course of events by sending you the book and your niece. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say she was attempting to take the issue of the dragon off the table, so that you would be able to deal with something else, something more important.”

  “Like this Aphotis business with Abby,” Mara said. “And the disappearing passengers from Flight 559. But I kept getting distracted by the dragon’s folly.”

  “It appears your future self was unsuccessful at getting the outcome she wanted or needed. Since circumstances have changed, this haiku intimates that the solution you should pursue lies in other realms.”

  “Assuming all that is true, out of the millions of realms out there, which ones should I be booking a ticket to?” Mara asked.

  The phone in her pocket vibrated and emitted a loud hum—an incoming text message.